


A Different Kind of Spark

by wynnebat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Beta Peter Hale, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Scott is a Bad Friend, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: Attacked by a rogue Alpha out in the preserve, Stiles calls the person he needs most.





	A Different Kind of Spark

Stiles’ hands are bloody and shaking as he reaches to push the body off of him. It’s heavy—dead weight, a part of his mind thinks, already in hysterics—and he doesn’t lift it as much as figure out a way to roll out from under it. The it had been a him only minutes ago. Maybe seconds. He keeps dropping out of focus, like a particularly bad ADHD day or when he’s working on three days without sleep. Concussion, maybe, he thinks, but that’s the last thing he needs to worry about. He’s more concerned about the arm the rogue werewolf had seemed to be trying his hardest to bite off and the deep gashes all over the rest of his body. Pine needles dig into the wounds on his back, but Stiles can’t make himself get up.

“Come on,” he murmurs, reaching with the hand that isn’t a bundle of agony. “Please.”

He doesn’t want to bleed out here, but his hands are blistered from managing to send a burst of fire through the werewolf’s midsection. It would be satisfying to see the hole in the center of the body if Stiles weren’t on his way to becoming a corpse just like the werewolf who’d attacked him in the middle of the preserve. The _Alpha_ , and fuck, Stiles hadn’t ever wanted to become a werewolf, but now he prays to all that’s out there that he survives, whatever form that’s going to leave him in.

There’s a spark of something fading inside him and Stiles opens his eyes to the bright blue of the sky. “One last time, _please_.”

A rustle of leaves, and Stiles sobs with pain and relief as his phone hits his blistered fingers from wherever Stiles had lost it while he’d been trying to escape. He wipes his thumb against his jeans to get the blood off of it before pressing it against the fingerprint reader. It takes him a second—or a minute, because it’s so very hard to think—before he hits the call button on his most recent call.

It can’t be his dad; he needs a werewolf to find him by smell. And if he dies before help gets here… Stiles doesn’t want his dad to be the one to find his body. It can’t be Scott, because Stiles doesn’t trust him to pick up. But neither his dad nor Scott are who he thinks of first, anyway. He presses the speaker button because it hurts too much to try to raise the phone to his ear.

“Stiles?”

Stiles has heard Peter’s voice say his name in so many forms. Anger, irritation, disdain, and then it changed. Pleased surprise, sarcastic playfulness, something that Stiles thought might be affection, as the year turned and Peter hadn’t had a murder spree relapse and Stiles hadn’t been able to hold on to his hatred or fear. There hadn’t been as much of the first as there should have been and fear was hard to keep when Peter’s fangs and claws started to ruthlessly protect him instead of being turned toward Stiles.

“Peter,” Stiles rasps. The word comes out all wrong, barely a name at all. “Need help.”

The knowledge that Peter knows to come find him is enough for a part of Stiles to unknot. A distinctive chirping noise comes from Stiles’ phone: the signal that one of his pack members is pulling up his phone’s coordinates. They’d all traded their information between themselves in case of emergency months ago. The whole pack has Stiles’ information if need be, but only Stiles has Peter’s, no matter how much he’d argued that Peter couldn’t rely on only Stiles.

 _I’m bleeding too much,_ Stiles realizes with a sob. It’s either death or turning now. Either way, soon enough he’s not going to have to worry about his wounds.

Peter’s saying something, but Stiles can’t make out the words even through the phone’s speakers.

 _I don’t want to die,_ he thinks at everything, everyone, any god out there. _If it’s worth anything at all—I don’t want to die._

It’s the last thought on his mind before everything goes dark.

When Stiles regains consciousness again, his brain doesn’t even have the grace to be disoriented. A bit of temporary amnesia would have been great right then and there, but nope. He remembers everything: being on the edge of the preserve when he heard that terrifying growling, having to run, the feral werewolf deciding he wanted a chase along with his prey. Stiles doesn’t even know what the man was doing in Beacon Hills. Doesn’t everyone in a five state radius already know that Beacon Hills is a disaster of a town? Everyone loses something here, whether it’s their life or their innocence or the stupid, wonderful bit of magic he’d had.

“Tell me I’m dying,” he says to the person in the room with him. Stiles can hear their heartbeat, the sound magnified to his ears, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He knows this mattress, the way it bends to his shape and the lump near his shoulder. He’s in his bedroom, which is the only comfort he has right now.

“You’re dying,” Peter’s voice says, and Stiles can hear both the amusement and the lie in his voice. Dammit. Peter continues on to say, “I found you in the middle of the preserve with what a rogue werewolf’s corpse next to you. I’m surprised you didn’t bleed out before the bite took.”

Peter’s telling the truth, sure, but the part of Stiles that’s all instinct can sense even more. Stiles tries not to smile as he says, “You were worried.”

So worried that even now, the smell of Peter’s previous fear permeates the room. Stiles had been on the brink of death. He nearly left his dad all alone in this world. He nearly left Scott and the others. And Peter, who nearly found a dead body instead of a living one.

“You’re going to be unbearable as a werewolf,” says the man taking Stiles’ hand, leeching the lingering pain Stiles feels. “Open your eyes, Stiles.”

The touch is nice, but he still doesn’t open his eyes. Denial is working out great for him right now. Both of his newfound lack of humanity and the fact that this is more than Peter’s ever touched him before and it’s really a lot more than just nice.

That warm spot in his chest, the one he was only just learning to recognize as his spark, is gone. Stiles wishes he could kill his attacker again just for that. It’s been replaced by something hot and pulsing, something that’s reaching out to him. Stiles takes it, grasping it with a sob he hopes is only internal. If this is the only thing he gets in return, he’ll take it. The red-eyed beast who’d tried to kill him (it’s ironic that the words could describe Peter, too, but these days Peter is more a dream, not a nightmare) is going start haunting his usual nightmares now, but at least Stiles knows he’s taken everything that monster had. Even something he’s never actually wanted.

Stiles does open his eyes and knows by the flash of Peter’s wolfy blues that he hasn’t succeeded in keeping the red out. “Rogue Alpha,” Stiles says. Peter’s hand is tight around Stiles’ wrist, but he isn’t surprised. Sardonically, Stiles says, “It would have been really easy for you to recreate a slightly different murder scene.”

That part of Peter’s life is over, Stiles thinks, but there’s still something so very calculating about the look in Peter’s eyes as he stares down at him. Slipping his hand out of Peter’s, Stiles runs it along Peter’s jaw, giving in to his wolfy instincts pounding at his head. Maybe his human ones, too, because he’s wanted this man for longer than he’d care to admit. Even when he’d hated him, there had still been something.

“The thought occurred to me,” Peter replies, but his chin drops just a little bit, just enough to give Stiles the confidence to trace his hand down toward Peter’s neck. A part of him howls in delight, in what the primal part of him takes as submission, even if the rational part of him knows Peter could so easily try to attack him now. Stiles is still turning, still weak, still in pain.

“Yeah?”

Peter tilts just the slightest bit toward Stiles, pressing against the barely there touch of Stiles’ hand against his throat. The instinctual overload he’s getting should be forbidden, holy shit, and Peter’s just smirking at him like he knows exactly what’s going on in Stiles’ head. He’s doing it on purpose, the asshole, but Stiles can’t make himself let go.

“Too much of a villainous cliche for me, I think,” Peter replies.

Stiles can feel the rumble of Peter’s voice under his hand. He swallows. “Can we do the evil Alpha luring a Beta into his pack cliche, or is that too much?”

“Are you luring me into your bed, too?” Peter asks, his eyes half-closed but still so very alert.

“Mm, gotta play up my newfound powers,” Stiles replies.

It feels like there’s too much tension in the room to breathe, even if their words are light. Peter’s just standing there, letting Stiles run his thumb along the hollow of his throat, and Stiles knows he can say it any way he’d like, but he’s still asking for a lot. But fuck, there’s no other Beta he’d want to have, and he doubts Scott will mind if Stiles steals Peter away from him. He’d probably throw a party and then question Stiles’ sanity.

“I think something could be arranged… Alpha,” Peter says. And fuck, Peter calling him Alpha is suddenly the hottest thing in the universe. What the hell is wrong with his new instincts and can Peter please do that again?

“I hate you,” Stiles groans, hearing the lie in his own heartbeat even as he pulls Peter in as close as he possibly can. But there was still something soft behind Peter’s words, something vulnerable that calls to Stiles. “Help me do this right. Help me be an Alpha you actually like, alright?” Instead of one you’d kill, goes unsaid.

“You already are,” Peter says, and doesn’t let Stiles process those words before he pulls him in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as @[crownwithoutstones](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/).


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